Part Two
When Summer wakes up the next morning, he's gone.
Her first reaction is inexplicable sadness – a dull, cold pain that slides up her spine and pushes tears into the corners of her eyes. Then she feels angry – how dare he just ditch her like she's some kind of chaste one night stand? And then she feel ashamed – she pushed this too far, she can tell, and Chino bolted. He may be different from other guys, but he knows the unspoken rules of courtship: dinner and a movie possibly innocent. Sleeping together? Not so much.
There's a ringing sound, shrill and insistent, and Summer feels around blindly for the phone. Maybe it'll be a telemarketer and she can subject him to her rage.
"Summer, don't hang up."
Her breath catches in her throat. Cohen.
Of course.
"What do you want?" she snaps.
"Just hear me out, okay?"
"I have nothing to say to you, Cohen," she hisses.
"I know you hate me right now, Summer, and I know I totally deserve it, but I just need you to know that I didn't leave because of you. I mean, yeah, I kind of freaked about the whole relationship thing, but I freak about everything, right? I'm just an emotional landmine, like, always ready to go off and throw debris everywhere, and – "
"If you don't get to your goddamn point, I'm going to explode," Summer cuts him off.
"I just want things to be okay between us," Seth says, his voice sounding muffled and far away. "I don't know if I'm coming back and I don't like leaving all this bad karma – "
"Well, deal, Cohen, because it's not going away," Summer says, her tone hostile and chilly. "Don't call me again."
She hangs up.
This is going to be a shitty, shitty, shitty fucking day.
She mopes for a few minutes, thumbing through her closet, rifling through her drawers, looking longingly at her piles of lingerie. Fucking Cohen. Fucking Chino. They don't know what they're missing.
Except Cohen, Summer thinks, smug. He knows.
Then her eyes catch on something unfamiliar on her dresser. It's black, a strip of material, and –
Omigod.
Summer picks it up, enjoying the smooth texture of the leather in her palm.
Chino left his wrist cuff.
And under it, written on a slip of paper in messy, chicken scratch boy handwriting, are two words:
Thank you.
Summer smiles.
Summer can be kind of a bitch. She knows this.
So she feels a little bad about the whole Cohen phone call thing. Maybe she was too harsh. But she feels so fucked up about all of that, so confused and frightened and furious. She's fucked up about being fucked over. So she told him to fuck off.
And she doesn't know what to feel about the fact that she really, really wants Ryan to call. Now.
Ryan is an odd choice of therapist, she has to admit, especially about her Cohen issues. After all, Ryan isn't exactly objective about the whole situation. It would be totally unrealistic, not to mention unfair, to expect him to just sit back and act as a sounding board for her messy neuroses.
Summer knows that she'd never really fallen for someone until she fell for Cohen, and when she fell, she fell hard. He was sweet and funny and smart and such an unexpected source of comfort and support, and he was so different from all the other guys she knew, the water polo jocks only interested in getting wasted or getting in her pants. Yeah, Cohen was a dork and weird and slightly crazy, but he really cared about her. Cared about her for being her, not just because she was hot and had a nice body and big boobs and wore short skirts.
And she thought she understood him, too, understood something fundamental about how his mind works. She thought that she could help him, could provide some kind of emotional scaffolding when his whole world seemed to be coming down around him.
But when she got that note from Cohen, his scribbles about how he was leaving and he was sorry but it was something he had to do, she realized something very important.
The only person who has ever understood Seth is Ryan.
Summer used to think Cohen could love her in a way no one else could, that he could fill that hole she's always had inside. And he did love her – probably still does.
But he loves Ryan more.
All this to say that she knows she's walking a very fine line. There's an odd sort of tug-of-war going on between the three of them at the moment; the further she pushes Cohen away, the closer she grows to Ryan. And as much as she enjoys Ryan's company, she knows that at some point she's going to have to make a choice.
Between letting go and holding on.
Her cell phone rings then, a tinkly version of Oasis' "Champagne Supernova." Goddamit, but she needs to change that ringtone.
"Hello?" she says, her voice much more chipper than she feels.
"Summer, hey." It's Ryan. He sounds winded, like he's been running. "I'm sorry about this morning…I mean, just leaving like that. I had to get to work."
"That's okay. I understand," she says, and she does.
"Did you get the…"
"Yeah," Summer says, a smile pushing up the corner of her mouth. "And thank you."
"You're welcome." There's some shuffling on the line and something clatters. "Shit. Um, I wanted to tell you…I'm kind of going out of town this weekend."
"Really?" Summer asks. Her stomach hurts. She doesn't know where he's going, or why, but she doesn't want him to leave.
"Yeah, I'm going to Portland….to try to get Seth to come home."
"You're…" Summer processes this. She doesn't know what to say.
"Sandy came to see me this morning, gave me a plane ticket, and I wasn't going to go, but now I think…" He sighs. "I think I should go. I mean, I feel bad about what happened and Sandy and Kirsten are really upset about this, so…anything I can do, right?"
"Right," Summer says, her voice a little hoarse.
And you want him home, too, she wants to say. But if Ryan doesn't want to tell her that, then she's not going to push him.
"So I guess I'll see you when I get back?" he says, his voice trembling slightly, and Summer knows he's nervous.
Maybe because he knows this could be a sort of goodbye.
"Yeah, sounds good!" she chirps, feeling like a bird with a broken wing.
There's a pause, and she knows he wants to say something else, but this is Chino, after all.
Not so much with the talking.
"So…later, then," he says.
"Later," she whispers.
And her phone clicks and he's gone.
That night she tries to occupy herself with the first season DVD of The Valley, but it doesn't work very well. She keeps switching from episode to episode – certain scenes remind her of Chino or Cohen or Coop, even, and escapism only works when you preserve that distance between reality and fiction. At one point she finds herself drifting in and out of a dreamy state remembering last night, the way he smiled at her, his blue eyes wide and bright. The way they laughed together. His warmth beneath her as she snuggled against him. The sweetness of his face as he slept, immune to the world for a few precious hours.
Man, I've got it bad, she thinks.
In so many different ways.
It's so weird to think about when she first met Chino, when she saw him at that party before the fashion show. She'd told Coop that he was hot because he was the brooding, wounded type and she could save him. To her Ryan looked like the bad boy, a living breathing James Dean, and even before she saw him in a wifebeater she was already imagining him in denim and leather, looking twelve different kinds of sexy. So what she's feeling now isn't really new – it's just a re-emergence of what's been there all along.
Because back then, Marissa – with her wide, innocent eyes and sweet smile – dug her claws into him first.
And lord, did she leave scars.
The way Chino reacts to feminine touch now, you'd think he'd sworn women off forever. He's cursed with a dangerous attraction to girls bent on self-destruction, girls who he can protect and defend and worship. Summer doesn't know the true source of this – maybe it's because he's used to playing the parent, the person who cleans up the mess, the last loyal survivor left to scrape the person he loves off the pavement when her collision course with reality comes to its bitter conclusion.
The problem with this kind of hero complex is that there are some people you can't save.
Summer's been friends with Marissa for years, and she knows she's one of them.
All these years Chino's been playing superhero, but nobody's ever really tried to save him.
Summer would really like to try.
Even if right now she doesn't know exactly what that means.
At five o'clock on Sunday, Summer gets an unexpected phone call.
"Hello?"
At first there's only silence and the sound of breathing, which seriously squicks her out. "Who is this?" she demands.
"Summer, it's me."
Ryan sounds so tired, like he hasn't slept in days. His voice has a desperate edge to it that makes Summer want to cry. "What's wrong?" she asks.
"Theresa…she…um…lost the baby."
Summer feels her stomach drop to her knees. "Omigod, Ryan, I'm so sorry."
"I just…" Ryan's breath hitches in his throat.
"You don't have to talk about it, sweetheart," Summer tells him. "It's okay."
"I'm coming home tomorrow," he says. "Seth…wants to stay in Portland. He's not coming back."
Summer feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her. She doesn't know what to think, whether she should be happy Ryan is coming back without Seth. Even if it will mean less emotional turmoil for her, it'll also mean Ryan won't have Seth to help him
through this. The last thing Summer wants is to be a substitute for Seth. She's already been a substitute for Ryan, and it did wonders for her self-esteem.
"I'm…sorry to hear that," Summer says finally.
"You know, Summer," Ryan says, "it's okay if you're not."
Summer feels a wave of affection for him crash over her then, she's so grateful for his understanding.
"I have to go," he says. "I'm sorry to cut this so short, but Seth's calling me to come to dinner."
"Okay," she says softly.
"I'll see you soon," he says, then adds, "I look forward to it."
This time Summer has a big smile on her face when she gets off the phone.
Come the first day of school, Summer puts on a cute pair of sandals, a tank top and one of her beloved minis and decides she's turning over a new leaf. No more angst and ex-boyfriend drama. She's just going to have fun and do well and be happy. That's it.
Everything goes fairly well – her classes don't look impossible, she sees a few cute new boys in the halls, and she manages to avoid seeing Coop at all, a virtual miracle. Now that Seth and Ryan are gone the school does feel oddly empty, but that'll change soon enough. There are always new people. And Summer knows how to make friends, after all.
She's driving home when her cell rings. Weird. It's the Cohens' number. Why would they be…
"Summer!" Ryan says when she answers it. "How are you?"
"I'm…good, Chino. Are you at the Cohens'? I thought– "
"I'm back in Newport," he says. "And this time for good."
Summer feels a twinge of excitement thrill through her. "You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"I'm coming over," she says. "I'm in the neighborhood anyway. Are you going to come back to Harbor, too?"
"I'm already back," he says. "I was surprised I didn't see you today."
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" she teases. He snorts. "I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, there's something else – "
"Tell me when I get there," she says, and hangs up.
When she gets to the Cohen house she feels like skipping around back to the poolhouse, she's so happy. What a dork she's become hanging out with Chino.
She finds him lounging on the bed in the poolhouse wearing jeans and a white undershirt and looking good, as usual. When he looks up and his eyes meet hers,
she can see they're red-rimmed, and she is reminded instantly of the hell he's been through these last few days.
She collapses onto the bed and immediately throws her arms around him, hugging him close, not caring if this is too much. He needs this, whether he knows it or not, and lord knows she needs it too.
"What was that for?" he asks breathlessly when they break apart.
"I'm glad you're back," she says. "And I'm so sorry about everything that's happened," She runs her hand through his dirty blond hair, not even thinking about it, it's so natural. "Is there anything I can do?"
In that second she becomes conscious of just how close they are to each other – it's one of those movie freeze frame moments where if either of them leans forward they'll be kissing, and fuck, people aren't supposed to have eyes that color in real life. Chino is no Monet – he is just as beautiful up close as he is from far away.
"I…um…" Ryan mumbles, and she realizes he's looking at her lips.
"I brought you something," she says, pulling away slightly to rummage through her purse, effectively breaking the tension for the moment. She holds out his wrist cuff to him, and he gives her a small, almost secretive smile.
"You can keep it, you know," he says.
"But it looks better on you," she says. Like everything does, she's tempted to say, but doesn't.
She takes his arm and wraps the cuff around his wrist, fastening the snaps. When she finishes her hand brushes against the pulse point on his wrist and she can't help but notice his sharp intake of breath.
Summer looks up into his eyes, and she sees they've darkened to an almost navy blue. She's never seen him look at her like that, so it's either a trick of the light or…
Suddenly
his lips are pressed against hers, and she doesn't know if she
kissed him or vice versa, but either way it's what she wants. It's
delicate, gentle, tentative at first, but then he increases the
pressure and licks her lips, his tongue parting them as she willingly
lets him inside. Good lord, but he feels good. He threads his
fingers through her hair and his other hand caresses her cheek and
she's so caught up she feels like she might faint. It wouldn't
be so different to be unconscious; she already feels
like
she's dreaming.
"Ryan, I thought maybe we could – "
They jump apart as if the fire between them magically changed to ice, but it's too late.
"Oh my god," Seth says.
All the color drains from Seth's face, and he just stands there, open-mouthed, gesturing with his hands but unable to form a coherent sentence. Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
Ryan looks devastated, his face etched with guilt and worry. His hand is on the small of her back where he left it, but he doesn't even seem conscious of it. "I have to – " he starts.
"I know," Summer says, cutting him off. She doesn't want him to explain himself. She knows the drill. Seth freaks. Ryan goes.
"I'm sorry," he says softly. He gets up, murmuring, "You can stay if you want to…"
"Do you want me to?" she asks. Right now she has to be direct, brutal. Because otherwise Ryan is going to walk out of the that door and out of her life and she'll be back where she started – alone, two times left behind.
His answer is immediate, no room for hesitation or doubt. "Yes."
Then he holds out his hand to help her up, and Summer flashes back to that night on the beach, the night he admired her shoes and gave no answers. It seems like so long ago, but it's been barely a month. She can't wrap her head around everything that's happened since then, all that intensity bundled into the sultry humidity of long summer days.
She takes his hand, savoring the feeling of his palm against hers, cool with sweat and a little rough and chapped from working construction. As he pulls her to her feet her eyes meet his for a split second and she can see it all written there, the words he can't say.
The words Seth couldn't find.
He leaves, and she traces her eyes on the floor of the poolhouse so she doesn't have to watch him go. She waits a minute and then she follows him, because she needs to know. She knows if she stays there, imagining the millions of way this conversation could go, she'll go insane.
She hears voices coming from the Cohen kitchen and she ducks into a shadow, pressing against the wall next to the sliding door that opens into the dining room. She can still smell Ryan on her skin, sandalwood and sweat and something slightly sweet. She lets out a shaky breath.
"Seth, look, I can explain – "
"Oh, no, you don't need to explain anything. I should have knocked. You'd think I would have learned that by now. Don't let me interrupt." Seth's voice is pure ice.
"It's not like that, Seth, and you know it."
"So what's it like, exactly, huh? I mean, dude, I know you said on the plane that you and Summer became friends, but did I miss the part where you said 'with benefits'?"
"No, I – "
"Because you know, I thought, hey, cool, my two favorite people like each other now, that's kinda nice. We can all hang out and it'll be fun, and not awkward or anything. But it doesn't work that way if you're fucking around with her, Ryan."
The swearing sounds strange coming from Seth, out of place. Summer realizes that she's never heard him this angry before. But then again, they didn't have many serious fights when they were together, perhaps one of the signs that their relationship wasn't as solid as she'd thought. Sure, the couple that plays together stays together, but if you don't fight, something isn't right.
"We're not fucking around. This is – I mean – today was the first time. We kissed. That's it. This isn't some kind of conspiracy, okay?" Ryan's voice is low and calm, but there's an edge there, a don't-push-me-because-I'll-fuck-you-up tinge to it. Summer knows Ryan would never hurt Seth, but she can tell he wants to yell, to release some of that frustration that's been building.
"It feels like a conspiracy. It feels like you're lying to me. Like you've been lying all this time. And you let me believe that things would be okay when I came home, that maybe I could make things better with her? That everything could go back to the way it was, right? That – "
"I never said that, Seth. Never."
There's a pause while Seth considers this. "I just don't know what to do."
A moment of silence passes, and Summer is so tempted to look inside to try to read their body language, to see if they've stepped closer to one another, or if, as she imagines, they're standing apart, Seth leaning against the counter, hunched over, and Ryan standing rigid and straight, arms crossed, closed off.
Ryan breaks the silence. "It just happened."
It just happened.
Summer remembers hamburgers and sticky napkins, blue eyes and strong hands, easy breathing and laughter. She remembers phone conversations that went on for hours, ordering sandwiches to take him for lunch, the way he greeted her with a half-smile and a playfully raised eyebrow. She remembers obsessing over clothing and making him popcorn and falling asleep in his arms and waking up happy.
Summer usually isn't the type of girl to let things "just happen" to her. She likes precision and clean lines and straightforwardness and control. But if this summer has been about anything, it's been about shifting, changing, transforming.
Ryan happened. And Summer has no regrets.
She opens the sliding door.
Ryan and Seth start at the sudden noise. She walks into the kitchen and finds herself standing between them, but it's a little too symbolic for her taste, so she sits down at the kitchen table instead, refusing to meet either of their eyes. "Cohen," she says slowly, "don't blame Ryan for this. Because anything that happened is my fault, too."
Seth's eyes flit between the two of them and she knows he's flashing back to earlier, reliving that moment of horrible realization.
"So how did it happen, exactly?" Seth asks. "Was it an instant connection? Electricity and butterflies?" His tone is half sarcastic, half serious.
"Shoes," Summer says.
"The who in the what now?" Seth exclaims.
"It started with shoes," she says, finally looking up to meet his eyes.
She's not quite prepared for the vulnerability there, or the dull ache it produces in her stomach. She's not prepared to feel sorry for him.
To still love him.
"This sounds kinky, dude," Seth says. "I'm not sure I want to hear it." He's trying to joke, to lighten the mood and diffuse the tension, but even he doesn't find this funny.
"I said I liked her shoes," Ryan says, and Summer turns toward him. She's surprised he remembered, but then she realizes Ryan remembers everything. A blessing and a curse, she guesses. Whatever.
"Wow." Seth is tracing patterns on the kitchen counter. "I didn't think people actually used the 'Nice shoes, wanna fuck" line anymore."
Summer giggles, because it's funny to imagine Ryan saying that.
Ryan is not amused. "I just complimented her shoes. I wasn't trying to get into her pants."
"Yet," Seth inserts.
"Look, man – " Ryan starts.
"Cohen," Summer snaps, "don't talk about what you don't understand. And don't act so fucking self-righteous when you're the one who left me, who ditched me for no good reason to sail off on your little boat to who the hell knows where."
Summer is tired. She's tired of listening, she's tired of talking, but most of all she's tired of being so fucking nice.
Summer Roberts doesn't smile when she doesn't mean it. She doesn't make small talk.
Summer Roberts kicks ass and takes names.
Claws? Check. Attitude? Present and accounted for. Bitch switch? Definitely flipped.
Seth blanches, then heat infuses his cheeks. "I – "
"Maybe you forgot, but we broke up," she says. "And it wasn't exactly my choice."
"But I thought – " Seth stutters.
"—that I'd wait for you?" Summer finishes.
Seth looks down at his shoes, and Summer knows she's right.
Ryan looks uncomfortable, like he's walked into a room where people are having a really intense conversation and doesn't know how to manuever his way out of an
awkward social situation without stepping on anyone's toes.
"I…" Seth wants to say something, but the words just aren't coming. It's a modern miracle! Cohen is completely tongue-tied.
"Yes?" Summer says, her tone that of an impatient teacher prompting a student to answer the damn question already.
"I have to go," Seth says, so quickly that his words blend together. Summer understands him – she's proficient in Cohenese – and she doesn't attempt a response. She's done enough. He's got enough to think about.
He needs to be alone.
Summer can understand that. Sometimes she likes to be alone, too. Like when she's had a shitty day and all she wants to do is dissolve in a vanilla-scented bubble bath and surround herself with scented candles and forget about all the heinousness that exists outside of her bathroom door. Or when her stepmonster drinks herself into a stupor and makes a point of enumerating in great detail all the things that are wrong with Summer's appearance and attitude. Then she likes to lock herself in her room and cry and put David Gray on the stereo and write long, nasty letters she'll never send. For a second she considers that maybe this is one of those times, that maybe she needs a little solo meditation time to work all this out, to know what to do next.
But then she looks up and sees Ryan, and he looks so lost, his eyes dull and tired, his hair messy from where she ran her hands through it. He's got her touch written all over her, still, and this strikes her as both incredibly sexy and so sad it's almost tragic.
"Chino – " she says, but he turns and pushes his way out of the sliding door into the cooling air of sunset. She follows, her heeled sandals clicking on the patio.
He doesn't say anything for a minute, and she doesn't either. The silence isn't awkward, it's soothing. He produces a pack of cigarettes from somewhere, taps them against his thigh and takes one out.
"I didn't know you smoke," Summer says.
He shrugs. "Only sometimes."
He lights one, leans back against the wall and inhales deeply, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.
"Can I have one?" she asks, and Ryan looks at her, quirking an eyebrow. He moves to take one out of the pack, then thinks better of it and hands her his own. She puts it in between her lips – it's still moist from his – and inhales. He's holding her gaze the whole time and it's one of the most erotic things she's ever experienced. She knows all that nonsense about smoking being an oral fixation, but she never quite believed it until now.
She's the first one to break in their staring contest, looking out at the ocean where the sun is sinking beneath the horizon, smearing the sky with pink and gold. She takes small, delicate puffs on the cigarette, almost like she's sipping from it. She tries to concentrate on the beauty of the landscape and not on Ryan's presence next to her, the heat from his body and the tightness of his jeans and the curve of his shoulders and the texture of his lips –
All a sudden the cigarette is gone, and Ryan is staring at her, holding it between his fingers, challenging her with his eyes. "You son of a – "
But then his lips replace the cigarette, soft and insistent and warm. He pushes her up against the wall, one hand encircling her waist, the other in her hair. Ryan has a thing for hair, Summer's noticed, but she's not complaining. He slips his tongue between her lips and she bites him, gently, on his lower lip. His hand splays over her lower back and slides under the flimsy material of her tank top and electricity climbs up her spine, setting each vertebrae on fire. She runs her fingers over the surface of his shirt, her nails scraping over his nipples, and she can hear his breath hitch. He breaks the kiss to trail tiny kisses along her neckline, licking the hollow of her throat, and she's glad he's bracing her against the wall because otherwise she knows she would collapse onto the ground. She twists her fingers in his hair and lets out a quiet moan before pulling him up to kiss her again.
In those few beautiful moments, Ryan is an oasis in the middle of the desert and she's dying of thirst. He smells like summer and tastes like honeysuckle and she wishes she could distill his essence and bottle it and carry it with her all the time so they'd never have to be apart. It's exactly the kind of romance novel b.s. she always said she'd never buy into, but here she is, quivering and wilting in the arms of her very own hard-bodied Don Juan.
It doesn't make sense, none of it, especially when he pulls away slightly, whispers, "We have to stop," and kisses her on her nose.
"I don't want to – " she says petulantly, but he shakes his head.
"Later," he murmurs against her cheek, and she shivers against him, cold but not cold at all.
They move apart, and Ryan stuffs his hands into his pockets. She adjusts her shirt and slips her heel back into her shoe, then stares up at him defiantly, five foot four inches of pure menace. "This isn't over, Chino," she tells him.
He just smiles, his eyes crinkling a little at the edges.
Still nothing makes sense, and there's the Cohen problem and the impending Coop disaster and a new school year filled with some major drama-trauma to look forward to.
But when she goes to bed that night she falls asleep instantly and dreams of Chino, wearing jeans and leather, smoking a cigarette and looking at her with eyes filled with promise.
The End
